I went to the hospital, smuggled their bodies out, and mournfully guided their bodies down the alley gutter to the Bowler’s Morgue.

I looked up a psychic to help me contact my teammates in the great beyond so I could get their permission to start bowling again, as we’d all promised each other when our team first formed.

I immediately went to the bowling alley and bowled a few frames. Unthinkable tragedy where my closest friends all died or no, league night was two days later, and I wanted to be sharp, especially since I was going to have to bowl for them, too.

Vincent…Richie…Angelo…they taught me everything I knew about the sport…and now they’re gone…Jesus Christ, they’re all gone…

I did not take it off until my teammates’ widows/widowers had all rolled a perfect game, as a sign of respect.

I only took the glove off because appointments with the medium got very expensive very quickly, and I needed to sell it for the extra cash. Madame Ivette claims to be a professional, but she has yet to reach my teammates in any capacity. Every session, she just touches their personal bowling balls, closes her eyes, and shouts baseball statistics. I told her we did not play baseball. She responded by saying that Thurman Munson is in heaven and that he is okay with me remarrying and still loves me. I think I am being scammed.

I immediately discarded the glove to let other bowling teams know that I am available.

Angelo’s gloves still smell like him…it’s all I have left of Angelo…

Very cold.

Madame Ivette charges $145 a session. It is non-refundable. We have made no progress.

Very warm.

Angelo…poor Angelo…

No. I’ve found closure. I’m emotionally ready to bowl again.

So Madame Ivette still hasn’t reached my bowling team yet, but she somehow might have contacted my grandmother? When she was reading tarot cards, she told me, “I’m seeing an elderly woman. Yes, a woman who is old, and not young.” Chills immediately ran down my spine: My grandmother was an elderly woman. I mean, how do you explain something like that?

Didn’t cry when my bowling team dropped dead right in front of me, and I’m not about to start.

Vincent was like a brother to me.

Not until my old team had all been laid to rest. Their services were beautiful. We performed a 21-strike salute for my old teammates before shoving their bodies in the ball return.

I can’t start a new team even if I wanted to because Madame Ivette took my bowling ball. She said, “I need your bowling ball to, uh, make a…good…ghost-finding…machine…that will help me reach your teammates.” I saw her using it at the lanes later that night, surrounded by some other psychics who were bowling with their crystal balls. I think the local psychics have their own bowling team. I am being swindled. Now I am certain of it.

Immediately. I’ve always had backup bowlers ready to go just in case this happened. Our new team name is Bowlocaust. We are better than my old team already. I am much happier.

That coy look Richie would give over his shoulder when he was about to roll a deuce…then he’d nail that second strike, we’d all slap him on the ass and cheer “Attaboy, Richie! Attaboy!”…never again…

They were happy, supportive, and suggested that I deserve “bowling-related happiness.”

Well, I’ve still yet to start bowling again because I haven’t made contact with my teammates in the afterlife and therefore haven’t obtained their permission for it, thanks to Madame Ivette. She requested information about their bowling techniques, saying it would help her locate them in the spirit realm more easily, when in fact, it was a ruse for her to steal our team’s techniques and share them with her goddamn psychic bowling team. That has to be illegal. That’s a psychic felony. A violation of league rules. Criminally unsportsmanlike, at the very least. I am in very bad debt.

They were upset, confused, and believed Bowlocaust was a deep betrayal of my former team’s honor. I agree but do not care.

It should’ve been me instead of Vincent.